The Revolution of Francis Bonnefoy
by Advanced Placement Hetalia
Summary: Historically accurate tale of the French Revolution from the perspective of France. Contains AP-level history retold to be a little more interesting. Rated T for violence in later chapters.


_« Dieu nous a donné le vivre; c'est à nous de nous donner le bien vivre. »_

-Voltaire

The French king laughed. "_Vraiment_, Francis? You always seem so taken by the words of those _philosophes_. They only speak of foolish things. Montesquieu and his separation of powers, Rousseau and his freedom of the peasants, and now Voltaire"—Louis took a small jab at his pâté—"with his freedom of religion and his love of the English!" He waved his fork in the air and frowned at the young man in front of him. "Sometimes I wonder how you find the time for such foolishness. There are, after all, much more important matters in this nation!"

Francis smiled faintly. "_Mon roi_, you forget what I am. These men are all people of my nation, or at least they were for a time. It is not difficult for me to recall their words, and especially not the sentiments that they espoused."

The dining room, for all of its boisterous splendor, grew quiet. The table was laid out with various dishes, each French in origin. Francis could trace each one back to its introduction, full of fond memories. Yet he knew better than to eat from the feast. The spread was a mere formality, one which Louis XVI could eat alone for all that Francis cared. In fact, the entire setting seemed wasted with only two people to see it. As much as he appreciated beauty, Francis could not waste his energies on it now. Nor, it seemed, could Louis face the true intent of the meeting.

* * *

It was not surprising to Francis that there would be such difficulties. The two had conspicuously avoided each other since their introduction. That was June 12th, 1775, the day after Louis' coronation. Francis, ever the conspicuously fashionable, had worn the same outfit that he donned now: a stiff, bleached shirt with a blue waistcoat, covered by a long navy overcoat with gold piping. His white breeches, long, neat socks, and black buckled shoes finished the classic ensemble. Despite his fantasies of the most _haute_ of _couture_, this alone would not have made him stand out to the king. But when they first met, there were two things that made him unique. One was that he had managed to find his way into the private chambers of Versailles without raising any alarm. The other was his hair.

Unlike most noblemen of the time, Francis did not bother to conceal his hair beneath a powdered wig. He let it remain thick and blond, just barely reaching his shoulders. It was not a fashionable habit, but Francis kept a little comfort in that he had his own tastes, that he was not entirely lost to the whims of his people. That loss of self was the entire reason why it was necessary for him to know the king.

Francis had fumbled slightly through the introduction; he was always uncomfortable around what he termed _le patron_. In the words of others of his kind… the boss. Yet he had made the necessary introduction, an unspoken rule of his brethren—"even when you do not want to reveal yourself to your people, you must at least make yourself known to the boss. Given our situation, that's the best way that we can hope to improve the world." Francis agreed to that motto in spirit, but it wasn't easy when he was faced with it in reality. Slowly, he had admitted the truth to Louis XVI. He termed himself _l'espirit du pays_.

"We are… Every country that you see in the world has one of us. Every people… We are the manifestation of every country. We don't know why we exist, or how. We can only be the voice of the people…" Such were the kinds of words that Francis uttered. He considered himself a well-spoken, even charming man, but when he spoke to the monarchs the words slipped away. Defining who he was seemed to be the only moment in which he was truly vulnerable.

Louis, of course, merely gaped. Francis had taken the opportunity to speak his final words. "It seems impossible at first, I know. Eventually you will get used to it." He paused. Many a king had never consulted him again, shaking off the appearance as the effects of drinking or perhaps even a family madness. "You can get on without me, to be sure. But know that I can give you the words of the people. I may prove useful. If you need my advisory skills, you needn't call for me. It's simply my curse that I'll know." He started to walk out of the door, away from the speechless king. He could sense his confusion, the feelings of a single subject that Francis chose to focus on in that moment. "The many know me as _La France_, sir," he called back from the hallway, "but I would prefer that you call me Francis Bonnefoy. _Bonne nuit_."

Louis XVI had not bothered to call his nation back. They only saw each other sparingly, in the rare moments when Francis would spend an afternoon in the gardens of Versailles (for it was perfectly in his flighty way to grow serious one day and damn formalities the next). Francis knew that Louis was more concerned with palace life, with formalities and that Marie Antoinette, than the rest of the country. Despite what he always hoped for, he knew deep within himself that Louis would never ask for Francis's opinion. He certainly did not abide by even the best opinion in the Estates-General or the _Parlements_. These institutions, Francis knew, usually looked out for their own wellbeing, but they had been the greatest hope for France—for himself—in the past few years. Louis, like so many before him, was oblivious. He continued to spend, to be lavish as the people starved. Francis felt anger, embarrassment towards this man. But he could never accept one of his citizens as irredeemable. He resolved to confront the king, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Francis thought of all of this as he sat in that grand, ill-suited dining room. He knew that Louis would never have agreed to see him if it were not for that look in his eyes, so dangerous, tired, and determined, so different from his usual self. Francis fidgeted with the buttons on his coat before abruptly willing his eyes towards the cold gaze of his _patron_. He could not have any of the nervousness of their first conversation.

"_Mon roi_," he began, "Do not laugh at the words of Voltaire. The _philosophes_ may be dead or close to it, but rest assured that they are still here in spirit. You wonder how I still know their words. It is simple. It is not merely of my own interest—their words are the interest of the people. You doubt Montesquieu? The Parisian parlors now clamor of the success of the United States. You doubt Rousseau? There are whispers—everywhere there are whispers that he is right, that the Third Estate should take what is theirs. You doubt Voltaire? He is the heart of the Enlightenment. The deists are not the only ones who listen to him. People have read _Candide_, _mon roi_. They know of the injustices of Absolutism."

Louis stared at his country, his expression frozen. "And the Third Estate? Do you think that they, too, can read? That they will care about the words and the sentiments of the men who sit in parlors? I will have those men executed, the whole of the parliament disbanded if it is necessary. But the common men? They have never done anything in this country. You know that better than I do."

Francis sighed. "You are not listening to my words, Louis. There is nothing more dangerous than the common man—not when he has something worthwhile to rebel against, and the hope to create change. I came here to help you, even though you've never done anything for me, even though you have never done anything for your people." He paused.

"There will be revolution, Louis."

AN: I hope you're enjoying it so far! This chapter was more background and less historical content (though there's still some thrown in). You'll see more action in the coming chapters.

A few of the less obvious French translations:

_Mon roi_=my king

_L'espirit du pays_=the spirit of the country

I would roughly translate the Voltaire quote to "God gave us life; it's up to us to give ourselves a good life".

In case anyone cares, my one citation so far (in MLA format) is:

Spielvogel, Jackson J. _Western Civilization_:_ Since 1300_. 6th ed. Toronto: Thomson Wadsworth, 2006. Print.

Have fun and keep learning!


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